Vacation (unfinished, working title, sneed)

I was a little unconvinced when she said it, but sure enough: my not-so-little Sweetie Belle had crossed the 500 pound mark. I have a big, fat plot that gets me mistaken for a mare more often than I like, and hers was even bigger. That big, beautiful marshmellow gut of hers hung down to her knees and bulged out to the sides just as wide. Even her face was nice and puffy, not quite fat enough to have a noticeable double chin. She was wearing a tight two-piece swimsuit- tight enough to perfectly accentuate her rear and her barrel, but not tight enough to squish into that creamy blubber. The suit looked suspiciously frayed. Then there’s me, standing in front of her. I’m a foot taller, if not more, towering over her. I’m probably nearly double her weight, about 974 pounds according to the scale on the cruise ship I took. Other than my previously mentioned marely plot, I dwarf her in every way. My belly reaches a little over halfway between my knees and my hooves, currently pushed outward and down a little more from my recent meal. My face is even puffier, with a prominent double chin that sags down a significant portion of my neck, which itself is nearly as thick and blubbery as Sweetie’s sweet thighs. Well, “sags” isn’t an accurate term. Maybe if I’m still this big when I’m and old stallion, that would be the case. For now, my hundreds of pounds of blubber looks all nice, round, and bloated. My cheeks are even pushing into my vision a bit. I brushed aside my luscious, beautiful mane and smiled.

 

“Don’t worry, I have six more shirts, each a size larger than the last. Besides, you know what I’m like,” I chuckled. I have a bit of a problem, you see. It could be an addiction, even. I’ve done a lot of gaining and dieting in my life. I’m not even half as fat as I’ve been in the past. This time around, I don’t know if I can even do the diet part of my cycle. I cut my meals from 8 a day to a regular 3 to try and save time – for a while, my entire day’s schedule consisted of eating, reading, watching, or playing something while all that food digested, then eating again. Well, no, I’m actually eating 4 meals a day, if you include the feast of dessert I eat near bedtime. I’m actually eating more in those four meals than I did in 8 meals. If I miss a meal, try to diet with smaller meals, things like that? I just end up more than making up for the calorie loss with a ravenous binge that pushed my poor, abused, massive stomach to its limits. Everypony in my friend circle knows this, despite attempts at hiding it, but nopony seems to mind. That’s nice, but I kind of like being able to move, even if I’m sedentary as can be. I could blame all sorts of things, but in the end it’s my fault for being such a shameless glutton.

Sweetie Belle on the other hoof, she’s shorter, but ironically she’s quite fit for her size. I’m half-earth pony, half-unicorn, so I have more physical strength and less magic prowess, but she, a pureblood unicorn, wears her excess weight like it’s nothing. She made it here from the hotel without even breaking a sweat. I’ll be winded and sweaty before we get a third of the way there - at a walking pace! Of course, Sweetie exercises. She’s not the fattest of her closest friend circle: Apple Bloom and Diamond Tiara take that prize. Sweetie and AB work out with Scootaloo all the time. She says it’s part of the stipulation for the little daredevil to be okay with her friends following the new Canterlot way (our culture of decadence has spread all over Equestria by this point, but it still gets called “Canterlot syndrome”), but really they all just do it for fun. DT, a cutie in her own right, is more like me.

So we started heading to the hotel – I wanted to stay in a bungalow like the last time I was here, but the resort hasn’t figured out a way to make the supports and floors structurally sound enough to hold its larger guests while still maintaining the tropical wooden design. I’m the “designated work pony” for situations like this, so I get the job of lugging the luggage cart. To be frank, I think Sweetie gave it to me more to tease me. All but the largest strap available can’t fit around me, but with that strap I’m tied so tightly to the cart I can’t even walk. Every pony at the resort, even the workers, are anywhere from chubby to fatter than Sweetie Belle, and even then I got a lot of looks and giggles being too damn fat to pull a cart. It was a mistake, letting Sweetie know one of my kinks is being teased for my size and nature. Just as well, my other obsession is getting as skilled in magic as pureblood unicorns. Pulling the cart with magic is a good opportunity to work on that.

 

“So, big boy, you’ve been here before. Know any good places to eat?” Sweetie asked. “Everywhere,” we both replied in unison. After a little laugh, I added “But the best is easily the branch of the Silver Whisk Café they’ve got here. It’s almost as good as what Licorice and my mom make in Canterlot.” Licorice is one of my close friends from home. She’s kind of obsessive over me, scarily so, but she’s nice. She’s also gotten so fat she can’t move without a mobility assistance cart because she as a full-grown mare is not much taller than a filly. She also makes no secret she wants to have my foals. A dozen of them. I don’t know if that would even work even if she were thin, the rate I keep growing. “So, how do you want to tackle it?” Sweetie asked. “What do you mean?” “I mean, how many meals a day do you want to eat? We can hit a different restaurant each meal. Maybe start with the furthest away ones first, for your sake.” She winked with that last line. She totally isn’t even trying to hide the fact she wants my belly dragging on the ground before the month is out. “I’ll just do my usual four meals,” I sighed. “The fourth will be at the Silver Whisk, of course. It’s right down the hall from our room.” A sly smile cracked her face. “So, the biggest calorie bomb possible right before bed? As expected of my wonderful whale of a coltfriend!” I wasn’t quite meaning that, but I had no way to argue it. “What are you going to do?” I couldn’t expect somepony half my size to eat like I did. “Oh, I’ll do the same, Nonny! Four meals a day. Huge ones. Don’t think you’ll be allowed to stop eating until you’re stuffed to the brim, though!”

We finally made it to the room, me looking like I just ran the running of the leaves. I flopped into the couch, which promptly collapsed under my weight. Sweetie, unpacking all our luggage, paused for a second to give me the smuggest look possible. “This is going to be your most intense vacation yet, Nonny. Today is a free day. The rest of this month? When we get up, we’re going to the gym. Don’t worry- the machines there aren’t as fragile as that couch your ass just flattened. I’m going to work you at least as hard as I work myself.” She paused to show me a collection of workout clothes she was going to have me wear. “Then, we’re going to shower. After that, we’re going to have a huge breakfast. We’ll relax, hang out, go to the pool, whatever between meals. At sunset, we’re going to stop at a bar for drinks. It’s up to you and that boulder belly of yours if you want to fill up on bar food too. Whatever the case, we’ll finish up with dessert, come back for some bedtime fun and sleep.” She was already done putting things away, and sat down on the bed, her belly resting on top of mine. “To tell the truth, this is supposed to be a one-piece swimsuit. I got a liiiitle fatter than I expected before the trip, and kind of tore the belly part open.”

Sweetie was clearly buttering me up, the way Licorice always posed lewdly toward me while ‘sneaking’ a few extra sticks of butter into the mix when she wanted me to do something. “The gym, can I just watch?” I failed to resist the urge to poke that belly of hers, knowing I just fell into her trap. “No way! We’re going to put some muscle on that blobby frame of yours. How much did you weigh last time you failed those silly diets of yours?” “Four hundred thirty pounds,” I sighed sheepishly. It’s a constant with my diet cycles: each time I do it, I fail at a fatter and fatter weight. The last time I was anywhere under 300 pounds, I was in my first diet phase shortly after graduation. Even my thinnest weight is above the average weight anymore. Not by a whole lot, mind you, since average weight has been climbing all over. “Next time, it’ll be five hundred thirty! Well, probably more, since you give up so easily, but a hundred pounds of that will be raw muscle! You’ll look… well, you’ll still look really fat, but not as fat as you usually do!” She then climbed on top of me, snapping the last bits of support of the poor couch. She got so close our snoots were booping, and I could see my face blushing as intensely as my mane in the reflections of her lustful green eyes. “This is also going to be the most fattening month of your life.” Her pupils practically turned into hearts, while I swear she briefly had that black magic eye glow ‘Professor’ Sombra sometimes shows before the inhibitors kick in.

Long story short, Sombra was given one last chance at redemption, with the stipulation that he has a black magic inhibitor and constant supervision. He, Sunburst, and Potion Mist are working on various mobility assistance devices like the carts and weight-hiding amulets. I worked with them for a while, and will probably be contracted to head back and help out again. They’re all nice guys. Surprisingly, Sombra took to this new paradigm of Equestria quite well. From what I hear, things were dicey for a hot minute when he was first summoned, but he agreed to all terms and conditions as soon as he saw Princess Cadence (~1200 pounds), Princess Twilight (~1500 pounds), Prince Anon Armor(~900 pounds), and Princess Flurry Heart(~640 pounds). Apparently, back when he ruled the Crystal Empire with an iron hoof, he had a harem of mares (and stallions) he allowed special privileges in exchange for sexual favors… and partaking in his exceptional fat fetish. Apparently, he also kind of pathetically begged to do things with each of them. Anyway, all three of the guys are quite a bit over 1000 pounds now, probably even bigger since I left. I had to take a long break away since I got way too big. I always get fatter the fastest whenever I’m with ponies similar in size and mindset to me, plus Sombra really took a liking to me. Yes, in that way. Yes, as extensively as you think. I got so big I was immobile, exceeded even the best scale’s reading levels, and spent as much time testing the products we were making as I did developing them. Me being me, I shed most of the weight, and in the span of about half a year ended more than doubling my starting weight. Celestia, at this rate I’m going to already be the fattest stallion there when I get back.

 

True to her word, today was what I was hoping the whole vacation would be. I mean, yeah, the gym part is the only thing that’s really all that different the other days, but still. Before heading out to dinner, she took me to the gym to show it off. There were some ‘thin’ fitness instructors (they were all easily 50-80 pounds bigger than their uniforms were made for) and a mix of sizes and shapes doing the bulk of the work. Of course, I had to be the biggest one there. The second fattest guy there waddled up to me. He looks fatter than me, but that’s because he’s a normal stallion’s height, while I got the extra height and appetite from my mother’s side. “Your filly rope you into dis too?” He jabbed, Manehattan accent thick as his gut. I nodded, reluctantly. “Good luck tubbo, yer gonna need it.” He leaned in closer. “Jus’ b’tween you an’ me, she don’t know her love is half the reason I look like dis, dig?” He winked, briefly revealing with a bit of his face that he was a changeling. He wasn’t the new type, but it wasn’t like he was dangerous. It was one of those things, you know? You could tell he wasn’t malicious, despite being from a different hive than Thorax’s. He was clearly feeding on love, but not dangerously. His wife? Marefriend? She looked more tired from having to contend with him being positively enormous than having too much love drained. I’ve met more than a few huge changelings, their diets being catered to love rather than food makes food a lot more effective for gaining weight than normal. “She don’t like to admit it, but she just puts this act on in public. The other half’a why I’m dis hyuge is ‘cuz’a her cookin’.”

 

We went to the farthest out restaurant in the resort for dinner. Despite being so far out it was only near the northern bungalows, everypony there was no less than 500 pounds, including the chef and bartender. It was a typical hayburger joint, but the chef was a skilled magician specialized in conjuration magic, meaning he made the hayburgers (anywhere from 2-6 haypatties) purely with magic, but cooked them up like normal. I should take the time to mention restaurants that cater to fitter, healthier choices like the one on the bungalow docks further back, they exist but are left out of the equation for obvious reasons. Sweetie and I pulled up to the last open seats. Like the rest, they’re made of concrete and steel, reinforced like there’s no tomorrow, and still too small. My belly is pressing against the bar, squishing over top. The bartender waddled over, sporting a fancy tux five sizes too small with as many buttons missing as my shirt has. His belly dragged along the floor as he walked.

“What’s with this place?” I asked, perplexed. “It’s built to cater to ponies like us, but it’s so far away from everything, and all the seats are so tight to the table.” Bartender, as his nametag stated, only smiled. He and the chef both looked like you couldn’t tell if they were greasy from the food, greasy from sweat and liquor, or greasy from the product they put in their manes to get this cheesy looking pompadour. Hell, the chef, sat in a straining hammock, belly bulging out even further than mine, barely covered by a nasty looking apron that hadn’t been tied in years, looked like he hadn’t been able to reach the ground with all four hooves in months. For every burger he made for a customer, he made and ate one for himself. Bartender smiled, whisked back his mane with his hoof, and leaned on the counter. “Because it’s funny. It’s a prank, bro. Besides, making guys like you walk all this way is sure to work up an appetite, yeah? Ooo, oh man, you look like you could compete with Chef over there.” Chef waved, patting his enormous gut triumphantly. Sweetie had a spark in her eye.

“What’s the usual order for this place?” She asked. “On average? Hmm…. Shyeah, you look hella gorgeous enough to handle it. Average meal size is 20 patties. Take your pick if you want anywhere from 2 to 6 patties a burger, dig?” “I’ll take it!” “And for your bigger half here?” “He’ll take what your buddy over there eats in a day.” “y’sure?” I could only nod. To be honest, I’m nervous, and have no idea just how much this guy eats, but I’ll admit it: If Sweetie didn’t volunteer me, I would have done it myself. I’m so hungry my stomach is rumbling, and logic is tossed aside when I’m like this. “I’ll take that in doubles. I want the extra bread. Chef stood up- well, he leaned forward and spread his belly across the floor, but you get what I mean – and saluted me. “A stallion after my own gut. Good luck!”

Sweetie was done with her hayburgers in a few minutes, visibly quite stuffed. I tore through the first two hundred hayburgers at a blistering pace, and only just started slowing down. “You’re almost halfway there, fatso!” Chef cheered without a shred of irony. Apparently, this place averages a mere 50 customers a day, which averages a thousand patties sold a day. Including Sweetie’s order, but excluding mine, I have five hundred double hayburgers to go.

Three hours have passed. I only have fifty two hayburgers to go. Everypony, including Sweetie, ended up getting another order of their meals as they watched the show I’m putting on. I’m sitting in the sand, using my stool and Sweetie’s as foreleg rests. My belly is straining so hard it’s turning red, and bloated out so far there’s no way I can walk back to the hotel. My hooves won’t reach the ground, and that’s if laying on my belly doesn’t make me hurl. Every few seconds elicits a loud gurgle, a groan, or a creaking sound. I can only differentiate between my belly making the noise and Chef’s by how loud it is. Apparently, he felt compelled to mirror my order too, and the orders of everypony around watching me. I can only imagine he didn’t opt for the double in a fit of ravenous hunger, and is ingesting a third of the buns I am. At this point, I’m not even eating on my own. The magic I was using to shove the hayburgers in my mouth is now being used trying to soothe and heal my stomach and belly so I don’t burst. Sweetie is feeding me. She keeps morphing between concern and raw horniness over just how much of a gourmand I’m being.

Through great struggle, I’ve done it. I actually feel in my face, my legs, my plot, like I’ve put on 20 pounds. My belly is still taut as an explosive barrel, but through a touch test, Sweetie confirmed the bloating elsewhere is legitimately fat I’ve gained from what (comparably) little I’ve already digested. I’m sitting in a very large wagon with one side panel taken off, next to an even more regretful and dangerously stuffed Chef. Sweetie and Bartender are in the buggy pulling the wagon, giggling and gossiping about what absolute whales their significant others are. This wagon-buggy combo is apparently how the two cheat their way into making it to their restaurant each day. Chef reached over and shook my hoof. His was surprisingly clean, compared to the utter greasefest his body was. Not that mine was much better. I’m a very clean eater despite everything, but my body is oozing sweat and greasy hayburger sweat. “1459 pounds this morning, probably 1600 tomorrow. You?” I huff and puff, trying to catch my breath. “9… 974 this mor… morning. Urp! By Celestia, oof, I’ll probably weigh a ton end of month.” Chef moved like he was going to give me a pat on the belly, but thought better of it and patted me on the foreleg instead. “Ya did good, great blue whale. You look like this ain’t your first rodeo being this big, but I’m impressed. See, I always go for the six-stack. There are just too many buns with anything less, and with all that lemonade your fillyfriend was shoving down just bloated those buns right up- In more ways than one, haha!”

 

The trip back to the hotel took a couple of hours, leaving me and Sweetie arriving at just past midnight. Apparently, the combined weight of Chef and I overloaded the buggy engine and it could barely crawl. The huge tank of sports drink probably didn’t help matters there, but keeping hydrated while struggling to digest that feast beyond ridiculousness was worth it. Chef and I conversed a bit, trading gluttony tips and stories as our guts churned. We waved farewell at the hotel doors as I stepped off, finally having digested enough to stand and move. Sweetie and I made a promise to stop by at least one more time before we left the island.

“Soooo, maybe we won’t go that extreme again,” Sweetie broke the ice awkwardly. You could count the number of stripes on an average unicorn horn the amount of steps I could take without having to pause for breath. My belly is still full enough it’s reaching the ground. The rest of my body noticeably filled out even more. The sleeves of my tattered, buttonless shirt even started tearing at the seams. Her concern washed away pretty quickly. “Just think, Nonny. It won’t be long before that belly of yours drags on the ground on an empty stomach! Here, let’s use the lobby restrooms. Wash up, take care of business, and we’ll head over to your favorite café.” I leaned on a wall for support. “Seriously?” She cradled my recently enlarged cheek in her hoof, blocking out more of my sight with my own face fat. “Awww, you don’t have to eat anything if you don’t want to, but I want dessert before bed. You know how a full belly gets me going just like you.” Dammit. She knows full well I won’t be able to resist eating at least half a dozen pies. She’s right, though. Whether we can actually do anything in the bed with stuffed bellies remains a mystery.

 

This isn’t that kind of story, so I won’t go into those details. The hotel was built for ponies like me, couches notwithstanding, so everything including the stalls were plenty large and easy to use. They had a couple showers in the lobby restroom as well, surprisingly. I tossed my ruined shirt in the trash and washed up. If we manage to fuck, I’ll get filthy anyway, but at least I won’t be greasy and nasty. The shower is even fancier than the one at home. It not only has the auto-washer system with a dozen sprayers that let you just stand still and be washed by machines, it also has an informational display and scale built in. Apparently, I weigh 999.9 pounds exactly, and am at a ‘high risk of extensive weight gain’. What’s scary is that it also has a mood and personality interpreter. While I’m standing there having my entire body scrubbed, groped, and washed by machines, it’s telling me I’m an unrepentant and shameless glutton, a fetishist for obesity, gluttony, overindulgence, and being teased, I’m an absolute subby bottom, a slut, I’m fixing to stuff even more food into my overgrown gut, and that my horniness level is incredibly high and rising. I wouldn’t call myself a slut, but otherwise it’s scarily accurate. Then it comes and tells me I wouldn’t mind being a mare, and I shut the terminal off. Sure, I wouldn’t mind it, and it would make sex a lot easier, but it’s not like I’m dissatisfied with what I am.

Just like the real thing, the Silver Whisk Café is run by a large older mare, and a positively huge younger mare. Setting it apart, this place also has a waitress, who’s nearly as fat as the second chef. Sweetie ordered herself three ice cream cakes. I ended up ordering every pie on the menu. Twice. The waitress, with her floor-reaching belly and a plot as big as mine and Sweetie’s combined, got a little too friendly and hugged me, crushing the chair beneath what was probably nearly a ton of combined weight. “Oh, I knew it was you! Autumn said her son would be coming, and we could tell by the order he places before anything else. I’m betting we’ll be seeing you every night? More of you each night too, teehee!” Sweetie looked a little jealous, like she wanted to be in the waitress’s place, both kinds of ‘physically’. Unfortunately, my weaknesses and vices made me gain too fast for her to keep up both before and during the trip, so that wouldn’t ever happen. “Sure, yeah. I’ll be ordering more than this too. I just kind of, went a little overboard with dinner this time.” I couldn’t help myself. The place even had the younger, fatter baker adding quadruple the butter and sugar in my order like Licorice did. 24 pies just wasn’t enough. I had to have more. I ordered seconds, and a dozen different cakes on top. Not to be left in the dust, Sweetie also ordered seconds, and three additional cakes.

 

We managed to make it back to the room, stuffed to the brim and half-ready for a food coma. Sweetie felt a little woozy, and not just because her belly was stuffed fuller than she normally stuffed it. “Do you really eat like this every meal, Nonny?” She groaned, feeling the conflicting sugar rush and overindulgence fatigue.” I flopped onto the bed, causing it to ominously creak and almost bouncing that overfilled creamy filly off. “Until I was introduced to hayburgers and pasta dishes, yeah. My parents were always busy, so I mostly ate a diet of what my mom brought home, plus anything else I wanted in the fridge. If you come up to Canterlot some time, I’ll take you to the real Silver Whisk Café. Oh, and my friend’s dad’s place, General Blaze’s Kirin buffet. I dunno, if I take you to my home town you might double in weight by the time you leave.”

Life sprung back in Sweetie’s body, and she all but jumped up, lifted my belly, and started maneuvering to try and introduce my already-hardened cock to her vagina. Despite the sizes of our bellies, she made it work. “That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make! Even… better… if… you… seal… the deal… by… giving me… FOALS!” I stared wide-eyed at the ceiling as she bounced up and down, sliding my cock up and down her cunt, giving it a hard squeeze each time, realizing there was no protection. We were both going at it raw. She might actually be serious. I’m too engorged and horny to stop it. Just when I shot my load, she kept going until I shot my second, then third, then fourth. She just kept going. She was dead serious about this. I couldn’t make out what she was saying too well, but it was something about making foals just as fat as us, being the fattest family in all of Equestria. The last thing I remember was thinking “I did this to her”.

 

When I came to, it was morning. Sweetie was laying next to me, looking sweet and innocent as ever, you would have never guessed she was an obsessive sex fiend. I don’t know what it is about me, but every mare I get with ends up this way. Licorice, Princess Twilight before she became supreme ruler of Equestria, Sweetie, Diamond Tiara, Apple Bloom… The stallions I got with weren’t too different. They obviously didn’t want anything to do with pregnancy, but even Sombra, total lard ball he is, wanted to do me and feed me at the same time so I fatten up from “both ends”. My train of thought was interrupted by the ceiling. It was farther away before. Did Sweetie break the bed? Suddenly, she was on top of me. I swear she developed fangs. “Wakey wakey, Nonny! Come on fatty, we’re going to have to hit the gym extra hard after last night, or you’re going to end up too fat to walk!”

The gym was awkward, and not just because the workout outfit Sweetie brought for me for ‘maximum sweat soakage’ was like a (very stretchy) cloth version of a scuba suit, minus the hood. On top of that, she made me wear a hoodie and sweatpants – thankfully, they’re mine, from my collection of winter loungewear, and actually fit well enough to cover everything. Even with the gym room cooled to a nice 65 degrees to offset the workout heat, it feels as hot as it does outside. She says it’s to “monitor my progress”, but I think it’s really to tease me.

Our first problem was the machines: half of them were too small for me to use. Even with the treadmill, I had to run two side by side. There was one treadmill wide enough for me, but that changeling in disguise I met on the first day always used it. After a short test, we decided to keep the treadmills at my normal walking pace. We tried trotting for a bit, and I was fine for the most part. Then we tried a faster gallup and I guess I passed out and tripped the emergency stop. Sweetie dropped the aggressive persona she seemed to adapt for parts of the trip and brought the medical team in. It took just a skilled healing spell, one I have been trying to master for a while, and I was back on my hooves. Apparently I was suffering from the early stages of something called a heart attack? I’ve never heard of such a thing, and I guess me being a rare case, I almost bore the full brunt of something that was all but eradicated when I was a young colt.

The third problem was everything else. If Sweetie wanted me to do all this exercise, she should have started me on it when I was in the diet phase. While I could fit on most of the weight machines, I’m both too wide and too tall to interact with the actual weight lifting aspects. Once again, we had to compromise: Sweetie would try putting weight packs, meant for athletic training, around my hooves and on my back for the treadmill part, while me squeezing into the weight machines had me laying there, comically oversized, lifting with my magic. At least I got to practice that, even if it was just the standard telekinesis spell with a larger than normal weight.

The fourth problem was hydration. With how much sweating I was doing (the gym had four industrial dehumidifiers running alongside the AC, so that helped with the sweat on the floor), I needed an absurd amount of hydration just to keep up. What we ended up doing was hooking up a drinking hose to a sports drink machine. It worked, but with how much I was drinking, I was lumbering out with a sloshing belly considerably bigger than I walked in with.

 

The after-gym activities made it all worth it. Sweetie didn’t mention it before, but ‘for as long as we could’, we were taking our showers as a duo in the largest of the gym showers. The staff took care of disinfecting and cleaning our workout clothes and delivering them to our room. If I were 500 pounds lighter, at least, we could have shower sex, but instead we just enjoy each other’s company while letting the autowasher do its thing. All cleaned up and with that day’s outfit tossed on, we head out to breakfast to immediately invalidate any benefits the workout would have had. Sweetie didn’t have to tease me or anything, I ordered three of everything on the menu and ate so much I could barely make it to the poolside seating area just a few yards away. I didn’t notice until I was already splayed out on two chairs, but I already popped a button.

It was lunch time before I knew it. My belly was still distended from breakfast, but that didn’t stop me from picking a pizza place for lunch. I think I ate 15 18” pizzas and who knows how many garlic butter-soaked bread twists and cheese sticks. To be honest I got so lost in the flavor I didn’t notice what and how much I was eating. I just know by the time I finished, the stool I was sitting on collapsed, I lost two more buttons, and a lot of ponies thought I was going to burst. It was my fifth tray of garlic bread twists (including the butter in the tray) where the signals being frantically sent from my stomach to my brain finally were received and I realized I was more than plenty stuffed, five trays and three pizzas ago. You could follow my path from the pizza stand to the cool tub (like a hot tub, but larger and not heated) from the huge line my engorged, floor-touching gut was digging in the sand. Sweetie, who wasn’t much less stuffed than I, got the idea to have a drink stand bring us over some milkshakes. As soon as one was finished, another was put in its place.

I spent all afternoon downing those milkshakes and was too stuffed to move, so Sweetie went to a kirin food stand and brought back a full dozen carts overflowing with food because she ‘didn’t know how much I wanted’. Now by this point, my belly hasn’t shrunk an inch since lunch. In fact, it’s even bigger. This cool tub would be a tight fit for a hooffull of heavyset ponies, but right now I’m taking up most of the space on my own. Sweetie could barely squeeze back in, thanks to my belly and the two cute (and quite hefty) mares on the other end who have spent as much time teasing and rubbing my belly as they have each other. Their relationship is kind of like mine, apparently. The smaller, more dominant one one is nearly 300 pounds, very focused on the rear, while the bigger, more submissive one is close to 500, planning for 800. She’s very belly-focused in her weight, and her increasingly engorged belly is pressing into mine quite a bit. We ended up talking a lot, sharing stories and plans. It turned out we roomed next to each other, both on the first floor, and were planning on meeting up a few more times. They had been staying in a bungalow, but just today had to move to the hotel because the bigger one was threatening the structural integrity to the point they needed to rebuild the bungalow from the ground up.

It was eerie how similar we were. The smaller mare, an earth pony, also noticed she felt a bit more aggressive and controlling since she came to the island. The larger mare, a Pegasus who was quite happy to have her wings be little more than belly rubbing and food moving appendages, felt like she was even more of a glutton than usual. We were practically perfect copies of one another. The big Pegasus leaned over at one point, as best as she could, and said my face and legs were looking a bit thicker than they did earlier. Her marefriend chimed in with something like “His body is probably trying to process everything he’s shoving down that huge neck of his as quickly as possible. I wonder if yours works the same way?” Sure enough, despite keeping my belly at its near-bursting level of fullness for seven hours now, I’m plowing through the carts of food like my stomach is empty.

Some time after I was finally able to move again, having popped the rest of the buttons of my shirt and quite visibly put on a significant amount of weight, Sweetie and I met up with the two mares and went to the Silver Whisk Café for dessert. Even the waitress noticed I looked a lot fatter than I did the night before. If only she knew I was just getting started.

 

We repeated the same schedule over and over with each passing day, minus day 2’s little health scare. I hit a snag as early as day 3: The scales at this ‘obesity friendly’ resort that clearly hadn’t finished updating itself since the old days topped out at a thousand pounds, and I already exceeded them. I ended up proposing measuring my progress by how the gym clothes fit and how close my belly was to the floor. It worked out well enough: on that third day, my belly was already poking out between the hoodie and the sweatpants, leaving that cloth sweatsuit that was colored just a shade brighter than my own coat color poking out. More than a few gym guests wondered what I was even doing there, since my workouts were clearly not having much effect. The extra blubber from the second day made the sheer amount of belly bloating from the sports drinks that much more obvious. By the time gym time finished, half my belly was poking out.

By day 7, we practically gave up on the gym idea. I grew a lot faster than Sweetie or I expected. My belly was touching the ground, even if just a little bit, and that was with the body suit (that was a heavy breath away from shredding anyway) packing the blubber in. It got caught in one of the treadmill’s treads and popped open. That changeling had also gotten too fat to actually use the gym, but by this point all using his treadmill would do is providing friction to my belly. From that day forward, my gym time was pretty much just lying on the one weight bench I still fit on, drinking gallons of sports drink, and lifting weights with my magic while more and more of my belly bulged outward. Even that didn’t last long. Day 8, I laid on the bench, and an ominous groan echoed throughout the room. As soon as I put a weight on each side of the bar, the entire bench bent and collapsed to the floor, in the slowest, smoothest fashion possible.

I was already eating more calories at breakfast than I burned at the gym, not even counting the thousands of calories of sports drinks I was drinking, but dropping the gym entirely just left me gaining even faster. By day 10, we were already confined to the hotel and the pools and restaurant stands directly next to the hotel, because I just could not walk any further. My belly was spread across the ground at all times and gave me some trouble walking, and my face felt twice as fat as when I came to the hotel. Eating in general immobilized me, so I spent most of each day sitting in one place as food was brought to me. It was like a dream, really. Sweetie had been keeping up as well. Her weight was closing in on 700 pounds, with her plot still bigger than mine and a gut that was about where mine was at the start: halfway between the knees and the hooves.

 

It is now day 23. I have one week left in my vacation. Those workouts managed to help out at least a little bit. I’m currently at a pretty awkward size. My body has done its best, as it always does, to keep me mobile, but even that has its limits. My belly has spread outward in every direction it can, holding off on pushing my hooves off the ground, but I’m just so heavy I can’t move more than a couple feet without depleting my stamina. It’s more than I could move the last time I was at this size, which is a plus. However, I’m stuck on a mobility cart at all times because otherwise I’d need a crane to get on one. It’s a low-tech option without controls, just the 5-ton capacity metal plate and seriously reinforced wheels, so I’m still moving myself, but even that’s getting hard. I look like a blob, to be honest. My face is a big sphere of blubber, my neck has practically been replaced with two visible, increasingly large bulges of blubber that lead into my chest and belly fat. My belly is so big around I’m even having trouble fitting through the doors. My room got moved to a section of a supply warehouse because that’s the only door and room I can fit in, and some staff have to hose me off because I can’t fit in the showers. My plot isn’t far behind. Hell, my legs are so bloated with fat my hooves are barely visible. I’m not far off from the size I was when I had to leave the Crystal Empire for my extended leave. The funny thing is, everypony I meet, and I mean everypony, says I look most natural like this, like I’m the most like myself. Perhaps it’s true, but it would probably be more accurate to say my natural state is being so fat that I stop gaining weight because the caloric costs of living equals what I can fit in my stomach.